Blog Post

It was Christmas, 1979. I lived at Lakeland College, outside of Sheboygan, Wisconsin. I was also employed at a place called The Crossroad Bar. At first, I just cleaned up there. Then the owner took me under his wing and I became an apprentice bartender. The drinking age in Wisconsin at the time was 18 and I was already, at that early age, a veteran in the field. The point being, I had to work on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. I would not be able to make it home for Christmas.

My mother was not happy. I was the first in the family to move anywhere other than my hometown of Bremen, Indiana, and she was very much looking forward to the Christmas reunion. She had this way of making her feelings known, and it was very clear to me how she felt. The dilemma was obvious. My parents could not pay for me to go to college. The small scholarship that I received as a UCC church member, and the support from the church in Bremen, fell far short of paying tuition, room and board, activity fees, and living expenses. I had to work.

The bar was dead on Christmas Eve day, so much so that the owner told me, at around 2:00 p.m., to go on home. He also told me that Christmas Day was likely to be as slow. He told me to take that day off as well, with pay. I took down my Christmas stocking from behind the bar and found inside much more than the tips that I had received from regular bar customers. In a card at the toe of the stocking were two neatly folded $100 bills. The card was unsigned, but the owner of the Crossroads bar smiled warmly as I wished him a Merry Christmas and headed home.

On the way to campus, I realized that I had time to make it to First Church, Bremen, Indiana Christmas Eve service. I went home, showered, changed and packed a few things in the car and headed to my home town. Services were always at 7:30 p.m. I knew I could make it, despite the snow and ice. I did not tell anyone that I was coming, but planned to surprise my family at Christmas Eve service. I had no gifts to give and no expectation of receiving any, but I felt tremendous joy.

The trip took much longer than was usual. Traffic through Chicago was a nightmare. The snow slowed everything to just a bit faster than I could have walked. I worried that I would miss the beginning of the service, but pulled up to the church at exactly 7:30. I sat in the back row, three rows behind the traditional Robinson pew. The greeters and ushers saw immediately what I had planned. They said nothing to my family.

It was during the singing of “O Little Town of Bethlehem” that my father turned and saw me. He elbowed my mother, who, upon seeing me, rushed from her usual position to a make-shift reunion there in the rear pew of First UCC, Bremen Indiana. It was loud and disruptive. Edith Heppler scrunched up her face at the commotion. We didn’t care. This was pure Christmas joy. This was the best gift I ever received…and the best Christmas gift I ever gave.

I am reminded of the story this Christmas because my mother passed in July. I thank the good people at The Crossroad Bar, outside of Sheboygan, Wisconsin, First UCC, Bremen, Indiana, my old 1969 Rambler Rebel, nicknamed “Gilda,” and everything in the universe that conspired in the greatest Christmas I have ever known.

Boundary training will be offered for SONKA ministers at Harmony Creek Church, 5280 Bigger Rd, Kettering, Ohio, on Saturday, October 19th. You choose which of the two sessions to attend, each focusing on three case studies around boundary issues. The first session will be held from 9 a.m to Noon. The second will be from 1-4 p.m. To register for the MORNING session online, please click here. To register for the AFTERNOON sesssion online, click here. To see the flyer click here.